


Appropriate Grades of Leather

by basketofnovas (slashmarks)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, F/M, Humiliation, Impact Play, Puppy Play, Spanking, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 16:22:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6016282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashmarks/pseuds/basketofnovas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Prussia is pet shamed, and Hungary has strong opinions on the handling of livestock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Appropriate Grades of Leather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tassledown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tassledown/gifts).



> Happy Valentine's Day to my girlfriend, tassledown!
> 
> All warnings and advertisement in tags. The humiliation is pretty light. This is mostly a Hungary/Prussia work, AusHunPru appears merely by implication and mention.

Gilbert would undoubtedly protest the description at length, but he was _adorable,_ especially like this. Erzsébet leaned over and kissed his nose, then told him so. He whined against the gag like she'd expected, and she reluctantly drew back.

“Your safeword,” she said, tucking the small blue box – the clicker she used with her own dogs – into his hand. “Press once for slow down, twice for get me out of here. Got it?”

Gilbert nodded. She had to describe it as crisp. She had  _no_ idea how he could manage to make it reminiscent of a salute, but somehow he did.

She drew back and examined him. He stood before her, completely naked except for the thin metal cuffs and the black ball gag. It was a very pretty picture, true, but not what she had in mind for tonight.

“If I take these off,” she asked, touching the cuffs, “Are you going to misbehave?”

There was a pause. Then a head shake.

“See that you don't,” she said, and uncuffed him. She let the handcuffs fall to the floor. 

Gilbert twitched. 

They were in his bedroom, in Austria's house, which was somehow even neater than his apartment. Probably because he was so rarely in it, but that didn't explain the lack of dust. 

The sheets had military corners in them, the video games and books on the shelves were lined up to the millimeter, and the T shirts, hoodies and jeans in his dresser were probably  _ironed_ . She would have to check later. The cuffs, and the set of clothes she'd taken off of him and discarded on the floor, were the only pieces out of place.

Erzsébet eyed that lovingly neat bed and thought about ripping the sheets off of it, but decided that messing with his things probably required more negotiation.

For now, she opened the bag she'd put at the door and made a lengthy show of examining its contents, content that her shoulders completely blocked them from his view.

Harness – check. Tail – check. Leash – check. She had a length of nice, matching black rope instead of the all four restraints today. She drew it all out one at a time, making as much noise as possible, before turning around.

Gilbert practically squirmed.

Erzsébet smiled in contentment. “Is the puppy impatient?” she asked, walking over and plopping them on the bed.

The neat, crisp corner nearest became rather less neat. Gilbert twitched again.

“The puppy should stay where it's told to,” she continued, selecting the harness and smacking him lightly on the ass as she approached.

She ignored his jump in favor of the first set of buckles on the harness. The top went around his neck, and fastened behind it. She put two fingers in to make sure it was loose enough for him to breathe, then drew it tight and pulled her fingers out.

“Good?” she asked.

He nodded again. Satisfied, she closed the buckle and moved down. 

With the neck fastened, the straps dangled down his front. Standing behind him, Erzsébet felt around to be sure the pieces framing his chest were in the right locations, then pulled the straps around his waist back and fastened them as well.

A few years ago, when the internet made it possible to read about all kinds of sex, and order specialty equipment if you wanted to try them out yourself, Erzsébet had gone shopping for bondage harnesses. She had scoured the internet before concluding they were all made by cheap amateurs and designing some herself. It turned out that harnesses for people were not terribly different from making tack for horses. If anything, they didn't usually have to bear weight, which made them simpler. 

This harness was matte black, with silver rings. The leather was all excellent quality, the same stuff she used for bridles. (As far as Erzsébet was concerned, being subject to the same treatment she afforded her horses was a serious honor that very few people deserved, and fewer were appropriately grateful for.) She had designed it specifically for Gilbert. First, she'd asked a number of questions about the other harnesses people who lacked necessary life skills like making horse tack by hand had used on him, and which made him uncomfortable by showing off the wrong body parts. As a result, it came around his breasts without emphasizing them, and fastened well above his hips.

The last buckles were on the parts that went between the legs. Erzsébet reached down and found that Gilbert had clamped them shut.

“Move,” she said, conveying through her tone and the way her other hand clamped onto Gilbert's shoulder how very unamused she was.

He moved.

She drew the two leather straps through and reached down with her other hand to check that they were placed appropriately outside of his labia. Gilbert shifted, almost pulling the straps out of her hand. She pinched him deftly in the inner thigh and enjoyed the high pitched squeak that resulted.

“Not much different from handling horses at all,” she said aloud, and buckled the last two straps to the upper portion of the harness.

Of course, if he had been a horse trying to shift into her way she'd have elbowed him, but you had to make allowances for body weight. She might have knocked him over.

Gilbert made a protesting noise through the gag. “Oh, hush,” she told him.

The tail came next. She had her own lube in the bag, but she rather thought he should have his own – ah, yes. The nightstand. She rifled through it, located the lube.

“You are a very pretty picture,” she told him, coming back over, and slapped his ass again. 

When he jumped, the leather creaked appealingly. Erzsébet frowned. “Gotta oil that fucker later,” she said, and squirted some of the lube into her hand.

Gilbert was even  _more_ adorable, if that was possible, with her fingers up his ass. She hooked them experimentally and he made a throaty noise through the gag. She knew from experience it would have been more of a howl without the muffling. She only wished she could see his face while she twisted her fingers and stretched them out. Eventually, though, she had to take them out and ease the butt plug in.

It was rather larger than the usual dildos. He groaned. Erzebet sighed a little at the sound, and twisted the plug. It finally slid into place.

“Mind you don't drop it,” she told Gilbert with satisfaction, and went to wash her hands in the bathroom.

Gilbert was extremely suited to puppy play by personality as well as fetish, and he proved it by following her. She eyed him appraisingly, judging the way the harness fit as he moved.

“You aren't supposed to be in here,” she informed him, drying her hands on the towel.

He whined.

“Dogs aren't allowed. You get mud on the tile,” she said, watching him wince and knowing he was remembering the numerous times Roderich had spanked him for tracking blood across half the now sold manor's carefully scrubbed wooden floors. (Carefully scrubbed by _her_ , naturally.)

Still, he unapologetically approached close enough to rub his face into her shoulder.

“Nevermind, then,” Erzsébet said with a sigh, and allowed herself to scratch his head. He moaned contentedly at the touch and snuggled more into her chest.

It wasn't like he was  _actually_ a dog whose training could be spoiled, after all.

Speaking of which.

“We're done here,” she informed him, and led him back into his bedroom. She took the leash from the bed and clipped it to the ring in the center of the strap around his neck, and pulled the coil of rope over her shoulder. “Upstairs we go,” she announced, singsong

Gilbert went. At a crisp, showy heel, naturally. Erzsébet sighed and let out the leash on the stairs so he didn't trip her.

The light was better on the ground floor. She led him in a circle, from the entrance hall, through the parlor, the informal living room, the dining room, the kitchen, the pantry and back into the front hall again, making a show of examining his steps and the surroundings. Finally, she halted him back in the parlor, also known in Roderich's house as the piano room.

“You see this piano?” she asked, gesturing to it.

Gilbert looked rather mystified, but nodded.

“Good,” she told him, dropping the rope on the piano bench and letting his leash dangle from the harness. “Bend over.”

He went, bracing himself on the bench. She checked that he still held the clicker in his right hand, then stretched his arms over his head and doubled over the end of the rope.

_Crack._ It swung through the air satisfyingly and hit the meaty part of his thighs, well below the tail. Gilbert yelped and jumped.

There was a pale pink mark where it had hit his beautifully pale skin. Much too pale a mark, really. Too light. Erzsébet hit him again, harder, and when the ropes came away his skin was red. Better.

“You are _far_ too impatient,” she informed him, and hit him a third time, this time on his ass just below the tail. Gilbert squealed.

“And disruptive,” she continued. “Not even _three hours ago_ , my Roderich was sitting on this very bench, _trying_ to play a romantic waltz for me before dinner, and who was it who kept interrupting him?” _Crack. Crack._ “That wasn't a rhetorical question!”

Gilbert made several protesting noises that she assumed translated to something like,  _why did you gag me if you wanted me to answer questions?_

“It was you,” she said firmly. _Crack,_ and that made six. She made it to ten before discarding the rope.

When she went to help Gilbert up from the bench, he was practically limp in her arms. She kissed him over the gag, and felt a warm glow in her stomach as his eyelids fluttered. 

Adorable, and hers. Even if he did track mud and guts over floors. (In all fairness, so did she. Regularly. Cleaning up other people's messes was different.)

She wasn't done with him yet. The best lighting in the parlor was on the wall across from the picture windows. Erzsébet deposited Gilbert against the wall and arranged him on his side before tying his legs together and to his hands.

Really it was totally superfluous at this point – he was trusting and unresisting in her arms – but sometimes the picture was the point. Like now.

Roderich kept paper and pens on top of the piano. Erzsébet dug out a nice, fat black marker and a piece of scrap paper that he wouldn't mind her taking – not one of the scores, of course not, God forbid she touch his precious scores – and wrote on it, “I CHASE FINGERS WHEN MY OWNER PLAYS PIANO.” 

“It's really more of a cat problem than a dog one,” she said thoughtfully. “But nobody ever accused you of being normal.”

“Mm?” Gilbert mumbled.

“Hush,” she told him. 

Then she folded the paper, propped it up neatly by Gilbert's face, and dug her smartphone out of her pocket.

The sound of the camera app startled him awake again. His eyes fluttered open and focused on her. For a moment he looked incredibly irate. His cheeks flushed red to match the glow of his ass. She had to take a second picture.  _Click._

“Still good?” she asked. He nodded.

“Good dog,” she said, soothingly, and knelt to stroke his hair. “First I'm going to fuck you. Then I'm going to post these on Facebook.”

**Author's Note:**

> For the sake of assurance, Hungary asked him out of scene before actually posting the pictures on Facebook.


End file.
